Best Poked Poems
Today was a good day
Today he walked on legs unbent
And erect spine of a man intent
On stilling the cacaphony of monotony
And smoothing the callouses of convalescence
For today, we both forgot
The wasting rate this cancer's wrought
Today, he teased and squeezed and poked
Fun at his trademark old school jokes
Laughter's remembered warmth evoked
Today he drove his rattling truck
His feet sure on the pedal's pump
And carried boxes of tradebooks and tools
With hands that know weighted control
Today, without a splint or cane
He tamed steps of receding pain
Today, through a briefly calm sea
He is the man he used to be
So today, I can foresee
The luxury
When days like these
Are ordinary.
1/23/21
Categories:
poked, cancer, hope, recovery from,
Form:
Rhyme
A crazy old man once told me,
“Heaven is made of the things you give away.”
It appeared he was next in line for heaven
as he had next to nothing left to give.
We shared a cup of coffee, conversation,
well not so much conversation
as a gentle walk through a magical forest.
His voice had not grown old or weary
of his quest to share his experience.
He stooped to pick up a napkin
discarded in haste, tucked it
in his pocket as we walked.
He shared his muffin,
spoke with a woman
pushing a shopping cart
through the Common.
She walked away smiling.
The muffin crumbs he left for the birds.
He nodded to the homeless,
waved to strangers, petted stray dogs,
offering all the brightness of his being,
warmth of his eyes,
quizzical wrinkle of his grin.
His rambling soliloquy
poked sticks at the universe,
offered hope to the ducklings…
yeah … the ducklings followed him
as if they knew that he knew.
As we approached the starting point
of both walk and oration he spoke
of the completed circle – not the
circumference - but the center,
said that the achievement was not
in amassing things to give away
but to offer freely those things
that you always have. Time, he said,
is huge, as is a smile, a word,
a shared muffin, a moment
in the passing of an eon.
He left me sitting on a park bench
sharing muffin crumbs
and smiling.
1/25/2017
submitted to – Random Acts of Kindness – Poetry Contest
Categories:
poked, allegory,
Form:
Free verse
Salvatore Bono
The short and older half of the Sonny & Cher show
hit a tree skiing and then was gone. . .
But like his gravestone says: “the beat goes on.”
Cherilyn Sarkisian, AKA Cher,
known for her low singing voice and long black hair,
poked fun at her hubby on TV in ‘71.
Her daughter, now named Chaz, has turned into her son!
*Sonny and Cher were a very famous wife/husband duo
of the 60's and early 70's. Cher continued singing even
till today. When they broke up, Sonny became a politician
and served in the House of Representatives. His skiing
accident was a great tragedy!
Categories:
poked, funny,
Form:
Clerihew
TEDDY AND I
Teddy is my childhood cuddly toy,
Who brought me a lifetime of joy,
He listened to all my baby cries,
Biding his time to reveal
His surprise!
I sucked on his ear,
Had a regular chew,
Whilst I spoke to him in
Gobbly goo!
One day I dropped him,
Ouch, he cried,
Don’t do that again
If you do not mind!
When he spoke I got such a fright,
I screamed with all my might
I was two,
Teddy too!
But intrigued, so poked him here,
And there,
Hey Teddy said, that tickles,
Which gave me
Unstoppable giggles!
We decided no one must know,
Hush he said, not to a soul!
Teddy as he grew older, look bruised
And battered, for which
He was well excused.
He’d lost his one eye so he
Couldn’t well see,
And always stayed,
Very close to me.
His arms and legs
Had drooped,
If he stayed up too late,
He was pooped.
On my 50th birthday,
He was fifty too,
A life led by teddy,
Perhaps lived by few,
He had been loved all
Of his life so much,
But his fluff has now become
Less, due to every hug, and
Cuddly clutch!
He’s still with us up to this day,
But is grumpy and will glare,
Jealous of hubby, a stare
Out, between human and bear!
Categories:
poked, cry,
Form:
Free verse
Tears of joy streak down
My dust covered face
As I just wandered by and witnessed
The utmost glorious grace
Just three days ago
I watched them crucify
The son of God himself
The man called Jesus Christ
They poked him with their spears
Wet his tongue with a vinegar sponge
Nailed him to a tree
And taunted “you’re not God’s son.”
He hung there ‘til he died
From his side water did drop
They buried him in a tomb
Where today I had to stop
Past three days the door was covered
A large stone placed there that day
But, today as I walked by
An angel rolled it away
He had kept his promise
Only 3 days would he lay dead
To forgive us all our sins
And, I believed in what he said
He glided out of the tomb
As if floating in the air
“Do not be afraid” he said,
With gentle love, and care
He represents new life
And all the wounds he can heal
Is Easter day your resurrection?
Can Jesus Christ be your shield?
I weep to think of the pain
He endured for you and me
So he could take away our sins
And one day, set us free!
By: Miranda Lambert
For: Gwendolyn Rixs’ contest: What easter means to me
Written: 03/21/2011
Categories:
poked, faith, forgiveness, holiday, hope,
Form:
Rhyme
A Magic Adventure of Peter The Pan/AKA Peta The Fwying Pan
Peter was a fine young pan with blue eyes
Like all the other pans his age, except,
Peter could not yet pronounce 'R's'--he tried...
And 'L's'...so hard he tried. He even wept.
School had been especially hard today
Peter had been poked, teased, and made fun of
More this day than any other school day...
And the ride home took so long on the bus.
When he came through the door, his mama knew
"Why the long face? Are you hurt? Are you sick?"
"No ma'am," said Peter, "Just tiwad fwom schoow".
"Some cookies and milk may just be the trick!"
Mama said, as Peter sat down to eat.
By now, everyone was gathered around
To hear of his day--and sneak a treat.
So he told them his story...and they frowned.
"How can someone be so cruel! Makes no sense!
You are the smartest and brightest of pans!"
Said Debbie Dishwasher-- then cycle rinsed.
The rest agreed and came up with a plan.
"Okay! It's agreed!" said Bob the blender.
"You need magic!--THAT--we can render!
Charles Chalice and Gail Goblet--my dear
Bring what you have, for this magic milk shake.
Michael Magic Grill...you go get us some beer
And also get Peter a great big steak!"
Then everyone sang together with cheer:
"A parr-ty! A parr-ty! It's a parr-ty!
We are all...having...a magic--parr-ty!"
Everyone was busy, hust'ling around.
Tams the Golden Toaster was making toast.
Tex Texas Tea Pot hummed a whist'ling sound.
David Dish and Sara Spoon danced the most,
Except for Marlon Mop--he could 'get down'!
Carol Crock Pot was fixing up the Soup.
Russell Rolling Pin had rolled out a crust
For a magic pie with love from the coop.
Joann Juicer made fresh smoothies--a must!
Suddenly...a sound was heard on the stoop...
"Who could that be? It's nearly midnight!"
Said Cyndi Chandlier all bright with light.
Christopher Cutting-board called, "I'll go see!"
Vienna Vaccume said, "Not without me!"
"Wait!" Debbie Dishwasher cried from the sink.
"Let's look at more options. We need to think.
It could be someone in need of a meal...
Or, it's a burglar--come here to steal!"
"Everyone else! Quickly! Hide inside me
Until we find out who that sound might be!"
deborah burch©
5/23/2012
*****end part I...conclusion in part II
Categories:
poked, allegory, depression, faith, family,
Form:
Personification
Friendship
Up the road, from where we lived, two children came to stay
My parents knew their grandma well, they talked 'most every day
A happy boy, a little odd, but always was so kind
I never was ashamed to say, he was a friend of mine
His sister was my brother's age, the boy younger than me
Products of a broken home, back then a rarity
His drool was always running down, he couldn't make it stop
The other kids poked fun at him, they called him Slobber Slop
I never saw him fight no one, I never saw him cry
His sister did
My brother did
And sadly so did I
Two years went by, their dad came back, time for them to fly
His eyes teared at my house that day, as he hugged us all goodbye
I lived my life, I took a wife, we bought a brand new home
Out of the blue, one day a knock, my how he had grown
Six foot three, two twenty five, a mountain of a man
His drool had stopped
His tears had not
He reached and took my hand
He'd never forgot the kindness shown
Though we were miles apart
The love we shared as boyhood friends
Still lived within our hearts.
Daniel Turner
Categories:
poked, anti bullying, childhood, encouraging,
Form:
Rhyme
We took mason jars
and poked small holes in their lids;
then went out into
those long hot summer nights as
childhood flickered around us.
We couldn’t hold youth
any more than we could keep
caught fireflies alive,
and our once bright lights are now
dimming in the jar of life.
Written 1/17/12
Categories:
poked, life,
Form:
Tanka
He poked his head
betwix mine write
for the likes of I
to address his query
"Do I blend in
Pops
do my words
sense"
The tears
fell
Categories:
poked, son,
Form:
Free verse
Mister Joe, poet, jangles loose change in his pocket,
Jogging memories and garnering thoughts as he walks.
For Mr. Joe's brain washes, tumbles and dries,
his gems of thoughts in hourly cycles, with riddles, jingles and rhymes.
Each wash-up, extracted, pegged, and hung up to dry,
To taunt and flap jangles for him, his readers and strangers near by.
Mister Joe's charm icons are processed, mulled over, distilled and wrung out for meaning within.
His jangles find meaning in bumps on smooth paper, read as Braille.
His jangles arise from stones skipped over calm smooth waters,
yielding meaning in the creases and ripples created.
His jangles rattle his sleep awake each night, with sky rockets of images and flashes bursting.
His jangles are a empowering, rewarding, revealing, enlightening,
and sometimes troubling and haunting, but can't be undone.
His jangles are his rhyme and reason, his friend and confidant, his mater and aether
His jangles are really what he's all about as a poet,
as a miner and peddler of ideas, and as a prophet and revealer.
Mister Joe's charms jangles the minds of his readers
His words cast nets to trawl up memories and concepts,
lured within the reader's mind with word play and twists.
Seas of dreams and memories are netted, prodded and poked
To yield twinkles, sparkles, hums, grunts, and nods of appreciation and delight.
His jangles finding meaning and echoes with links and associations, never before conceived nor considered.
Mister Joe's catch of memories once jangled, are returned to reader with care
Embellished and enthralled by meaning, relevance, word play and twists.
The reader now has new jangles to add to charm bracelet on wrist, or to jingle with loose change in pocket.
Mister Joe, the poet, and his reader, now walk and dance with jangles, jingling echoes within.
Categories:
poked, poetry, poets,
Form:
Free verse
News flash
Huge bash
Big fight
Last night
Clyde's Bar
Bizarre
War zone
Chairs thrown
Snouts poked
Gals choked
Eyes blacked
Ribs cracked
Hair snatched
Backs scratched
Throats slashed
Heads bashed
Tossed stools
Blood pools
Ears chewed
Tossed food
Knees kicked
Knives pricked
Low blows
Stomped toes
Dames sprawled
Cops called
Clyde's closed
Foreclosed
Categories:
poked, conflict, humorous,
Form:
Footle
Line of inquiry: track where lies the fulcrum of the fragrance of a rose, then likewise find within, your soul. By Unseeking Seeker
From whence comes the fragrance of a flower?
At its fulcrum, the floral organs
attach to the stalk, which has poked
up out of the earth to sprout
the beautiful petals -
that sweet-scented face
which I adore
in the form
of the
rose.
My
soul is
like the rose.
I am planted
on this earth, but I
need proper nourishment
to fulfill my roles. Heaven,
please let your sun reign down on me.
My soul, like that of a rose, provides
no sweet fragrance without enlightenment.
Categories:
poked, spiritual,
Form:
Etheree
Ode to Rain Drenched Paper And Rapidly Disappearing Ink Stains
Previously Penned a Moment Ago, Dissolving, Swirling Cyclone of Water and Ink down the Drain!
Silly Poet Stranded, Emotionally Sifted And Strained
Enchanted by Calliope's Impish Minstrel
Base Cappella of Rumbling Thunder, I Shudder!
Serendipitous and Wet, Expatriate Poet Without An Umbrella!
For You See I was Haunted and Teased By Moisture Filled Breeze
I Reached With My Pen and Tickled the Heaviest Cloud In the Sky With Ease
Silly Poet Provoking Poetic Rain, Prodding The Water Supply
Tickled and Poked With My Pen, The Cloud Bellowed, Then She Cried
Prism In A Pearl Raindrop In Custody of The Now Smirking Nimbostratus
Under Hyades Guard, My Penalty For Intrusion Pending Status!
Sitting In Humid Air, Amidst the Jury of Haughty Rain Nymphs Stares
I Should have use the Feathery End Of My Pen for the Inked Tip Created A Tear
Silly Poet, Drenched In Conjured Rain, Penalty for Pain, I must Rhyme Away From Here!
I Should Have Visited Erato's Garden to Borrow Her Myrtle Wreath!
Or Even Tea and Biscuits with Melpomene Could Have Been a Theatrical Treat
Euterpe's Sultry Flute Interrupted My Internal Musing, Rainbow Cruising Inky Hues
Silly Poet Seeking Poetry's Muses In The Conjured Rain In The News!
Conjured Rain Trance, Whimsical Chance, Pen In Hand, Here I Stand! Poet Pseudonym Debut
I'm Soggy, Not Sorry For My Attempts To Pen In the Rain, I Will Try Again, No Shame!
For Now My Sentence Has Come To An End, The Paper Filtered But Never My Pen!
Categories:
poked, fantasy, poetry, rain,
Form:
Free verse
It was our third-grade field trip to the Dinosaur Exhibit
We would be touring all the lands that dinosaurs inhibit
I remember the teacher saying “keep your hands inside your pockets”
Then she paired me with the meanest kid, his name was Tommy Rockets
“I dare you to take an egg,” Tommy whispered giving me a stare
The nest was full of eggs, if I took the smallest who would care?
The next day at school every child was questioned.
The museum curator was out to teach us a lesson
The egg had grown overnight and was hidden in my coat.
They made mom take me to the doctor so he could check my throat.
They poked me and they prodded, ran machines against my feet.
They questioned why I would choose that specific egg to eat.
The news showed my picture on every single station.
One reporter called me Dino Boy. I was an amateur sensation
When the egg finally hatched I had to hide the birth.
The animal that was born was extinct from this earth.
A Flaming Pterodactyl in all his blazing glory.
No one believed me, but who could make up such a story?
At first, he was easy and stayed in my closet through the day.
At night he’d fly around but never go astray.
Then I started getting blamed for things when I wasn’t even there.
Like vegetables gone from gardens leaving soil bare.
Kitty cats so high in trees the firemen couldn’t reach them.
Children so riled up teachers couldn’t teach them.
We moved from one town to another and another.
Each time it was the same. People felt pity for my mother
The next morning I woke up to a chewing sound
crunch, crunch, and crunch.
That’s when I noticed he ate my homework for his lunch.
My Flaming Pterodactyl again was causing havoc.
With a trail of Cheetos, I led him to our attic.
I made sure he was comfy then I headed off to school.
No one there believed me until they found him swimming in the pool.
Now he’s our school mascot in all his flaming glory.
A Pterodactyl that … sorry he ate the rest of this story!!
February 1st, 2021
Written for the contest: and then a flaming pterodactyl ate my homework
Sponsor: John Lawless
Categories:
poked, 3rd grade, 4th grade,
Form:
Narrative
Starkle, Starkle Little Twink
Starkle, starkle little twink
what the hell you are, I think
tantalizing hanging moon
rocking chair or empty spoon.
Twinkle, twinkle, ain’t you cute
glitter on night’s darkest suit,
jewels upon an evening’s gown
tiara mate to kingly crown.
Needle point of heaven’s face
pinholes poked in deepest space
eyes that watch us from afar
twinkle, twinkle, little star.
submitted to – Twinkle Twinkle Little Star – contest
sponsor – Kelly Deschler
Categories:
poked, creation, stars, , cute,
Form:
Rhyme